The Lost Dragon's Lullaby
by Iced Blood
Summary: Changing the trajectory of a lifelong dream for the future isn't just difficult, but oftentimes impossible. However, the legacy of the Kaiba family was built by doing the impossible. Gozaburo Kaiba, and his wife, determined long ago that they would do everything in their power to shape the future for their son ... even turn their backs on everything they thought they were.
1. A Devil Clad in Black

_**Welcome, one and all, to a most momentous occasion.**_

 _ **... Yeah, I know. Another one. Shocking, right?**_

 _ **Here's the thing, y'all. I've been working with the Kaiba brothers for almost two decades now. Seto and Mokuba remain the foremost of my inspirations when it comes to just about anything I write. This is particularly true when it comes to my Yu-Gi-Oh! fanfiction. But recently, I've tried to expand upon that two-factor dynamic. The brothers are great, but there's more to them than just each other. Isn't there?**_

 _ **I've expanded on the Kaiba Estate staff, their friends and confidants from the orphanage, old friends, older enemies.**_

 _ **But ... what about the catalyst for everything that made them who they are in the story we all know and love?**_

 _ **What about the Original Kaiba Family™?**_

 _ **That is what this tale will hope to address. Don't get me wrong, Seto and Mokuba will be here. But they will only be two cogs in the machine this time.**_

 _ **You'll see what I mean.**_

 _ **Let's get started.**_

* * *

 **.**

* * *

"Thank you for coming so promptly. Tell me—do you remember that military hospital in Hanover?"

Ishmael Faraji would never be known for being especially tactful—four failed marriages and six estranged children could attest to _that_ —but he doubted he would ever quite manage the mastery of outright rudeness in the pursuit of brutal efficiency the way that Gozaburo Kaiba had. The man wasn't even _looking_ in his old friend's direction; rather, he was rubbing his thick-set, iron-wrought chin with one hand, staring out the window to his right as though something Biblical were occurring on his front lawn.

His left hand held a fountain pen, and with it he was making swift strokes on a legal pad sitting dead-center on his oak desk.

Faraji cleared his throat, scratched at his beard, and chuckled. "Surreal enough to see you zipped up in a _suit_ like that, Gozie. Now you've gone and _shaved_? That mustache made you look like a commander. _Now_ you look like a . . . ah. _Ahem_."

Black eyes like gemstones from the devil's throne finally made contact, and Faraji found himself thoroughly flummoxed. Those eyes knew too much. They had _always_ known too much. But there was something else, something hidden, that was new.

And with a Kaiba . . . new was _never_ good.

"Sorry," Faraji muttered. "Y-Yes. Of course I remember." He offered a grin. "Hell of a ride, that was. I don't know _what_ we'd've done if it weren't for that Afghani kid with that gold ke—"

"He _wasn't_. . . from Afghanistan. And he _certainly_ wasn't a kid."

"Right, right." They'd been over the fine details of that night before. "Sorry."

Kaiba straightened his jet-black tie, and heaved a sigh. "I wouldn't have made it out of that building. A long box and a short speech. That would have— _should_ have been the final fate of my legacy . . . if not for you."

Faraji smirked. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his fatigues. There was only one chair in this office, and it was occupied; he would have to make do with shifting his weight from foot to foot to assuage the sudden apprehension that was invading every fiber of him. "Nature of the brotherhood, Gozie. We went into that mission together? We made it out together."

"Indeed." Kaiba stood up. It wasn't just his tie that was black. The man looked like he was in mourning. His slacks, shoes, vest, jacket, even the long overcoat he plucked from a rack in the corner was woven from liquid midnight. He took out a stainless, three-finger cigar case from an inside pocket; from another pocket, a double guillotine cutter.

Kaiba offered one of the cigars to Faraji, who made a dismissive wave. "Quit last month," he said.

As Kaiba went about that old, sacred ritual, he continued to speak. "You may have noticed that my wife was unable to greet you. Amaya is . . . indisposed at the moment. Have you heard?" Something ran up Faraji's spine. "Yesterday morning, my boy was nearly run down in the street. If not for the slimmest stroke of luck, I would be planning a funeral right now."

Faraji licked at his lips. "I . . . saw something in the paper, but I didn't know it was so close."

"Close," Kaiba repeated, as though checking how the word tasted, mixed with tobacco smoke. "Yes. _Close_. Close enough, in fact, that I have been drawn into my memories quite often over the past twenty-four hours." That explained the dark patches under Kaiba's eyes; he probably hadn't slept since the accident.

While a clean-shaven face made this mercenary-turned-overlord look decidedly younger than Faraji could remember ever seeing him . . . those eyes almost made up the difference.

"Is that . . . why you called me?" Faraji asked tentatively. "To catch up?"

"Something like that." Kaiba donned his overcoat. "Another question for you. Do you remember the day I named you Noa's godfather?"

Silence invaded the room.

". . . Y-Yeah. Sure, Gozie. Of course. Proudest moment of my life. I remember how much you and the little lady wanted a baby. Took a lot longer than any of us would've thought. But worth it, right? Kid's gonna make one hell of a man. He'll be the pride of your family. I'm sure of it." Faraji tapped his temple. "I've got an eye for that sort of thing."

"Mm." Kaiba took the cigar from his mouth and watched as smoke swirled into the room like an incorporeal dragon. "Do you recall the promise . . . you made to me? That day?"

"Of course. I said . . . I said nothing would happen to little Noa, so long as I'm still around."

"Well, I intend to . . . hold you to that." Kaiba frowned. "You see, I have reason to believe that this accident which nearly claimed my son's life . . . was _fully_ intentional." He plucked up the legal pad and showed it to Faraji.

There were four symbols scratched into the center of the page.

海馬乃亜

"Do you know what this is?" Kaiba asked.

Faraji squinted. ". . . Bit rusty, but I recognize the first two. I'm guessing that's your boy's name."

"Correct." Kaiba ripped the page from the pad, and held it up in front of him. "My boy's name. The name that will carry my blood into the future. The name to which Amaya and I have pinned every hope we've ever had."

Another pregnant pause.

Kaiba pushed the lit end of his smoke against the paper, and watched it burn.

". . . Of course," Faraji said. Because what else was there _to_ say?

"Someone tried to destroy those hopes. To cut down my legacy. Noa has yet to see his first decade, and _someone_ decided that his life was over. I trust you understand what it means, for me to tell you this."

"S-Sure. You want me to . . . find out who did it."

Kaiba smirked. Chuckled. Crumpled up the ruined sheet of paper and tossed it aside. "Something like that."

"Well, you can count on me, Gozie! I won't _sleep_ 'til I found out who's behind this!"

The smirk widened.

Kaiba held out a hand. "I thank you. Raj." Faraji tried to remember the last time someone had called him that, and allowed a grin onto his face again. He took the offered hand, shook it. "You've said _everything_ I hoped you would say . . ."

The blade flashed into Kaiba's free hand too quickly for even Faraji's well-trained eyes to catch. And before he realized what had happened, a razor's edge of cold steel slammed into his throat.

Ishmael Faraji crumpled, dead and silent. Without another word. Without another thought.

Gozaburo Kaiba sighed, clamped his cigar between his teeth again, and checked his watch.

". . . Except, of course, the truth."

* * *

 **.**

* * *

 _ **I don't subscribe to the idea that Gozaburo Kaiba is evil. We could have a good, old-fashioned square dance on whether or not he's sociopathic, but evil? That's a bit cheap for me. I think he's underdeveloped, I think we don't see enough of him. I think a lot might have changed about the way he conducted himself in the anime, if only that little boy with the seafoam hair had survived.**_

 _ **So I asked myself: how? What, precisely, would be different about Gozaburo's story, if Noa had lived? And how would that affect the other people in his family? His wife, Noa's mother? Noa himself? Those two little boys from a rundown orphanage?**_

 _ **Instead of just theorizing and postulating, I figured I would just pack up and hit the road to find out.**_

 _ **I do hope you will join me.**_

 _ **Regardless of anything else the journey might be ... it won't be boring.**_


	2. Hail to the Queen

_**I've found myself modeling the relationship between Gozaburo and Amaya (the name I've given to Missus Kaiba, Noa's mom) after that of Daredevil's Wilson Fisk and Vanessa Marianna, specifically from the Netflix series. I dunno. Gozie seems like a Kingpin figure to me.**_

 _ **In any case, this installment is an attempt to at least start hammering out some details on how these two operate. Because it's a facet of Gozaburo's character that I've honestly never even tried to pin down before.**_

* * *

 **.**

* * *

A specter in black, with swept-back hair and a time-chiseled face, stood sentinel in one of Saint Clare Municipal Hospital's sterilized hallways, as though he never intended to move again. And somehow, even though they weren't standing next to each other, even though their clothing—or anything _else_ about their respective appearances—didn't match in any way whatsoever, somehow it was clear that the grim woman sitting beside the boy in the hospital bed was . . . a part of him.

This man, and this woman—they belonged to each other.

Sun. Moon.

Candle. Shadow.

Both moved in perfect concert with each other, even with distance between them. The ultimate dancing metaphor, but now each was cast in stone. The unfortunate puzzle was figuring out which one was which.

No one who passed through that hallway came within ten feet of Gozaburo Kaiba. Just the thought of inadvertently touching him seemed to frighten people. Normal people, _standard_ people. The silent majority.

This perhaps explained why, when a balding man in a pinstriped suit actually approached him directly, nurses, doctors, and patients alike stared in something like wonder.

"Ah . . . Mister Kaiba. Sir."

Gozaburo blinked slowly, deliberately. Mechanically.

He sighed. "Not now, Edmund."

"Mister Kaiba, that's not exactly an option, and I think you kno—"

" _Not_. _Now_."

Did this man, named Edmund, have a reputation? Did he have important business? Was he a confidant of the Kaiba family? It was impossible to tell, because there was literally nothing to read on Gozaburo's face, nor did he bother to speak again.

"After what you've just done, you can't just _stand here_ and tell me . . . !"

The words didn't cut off suddenly this time; they drifted, as Edmund's face went pale. Bad enough to face _one_ shadow of death. As Amaya Kaiba drifted like an austere winter spirit out of her son's room, to stand vigil beside her husband, the temperature in the building dropped twenty degrees.

"My boy . . . is fighting for his life in there," she whispered; her emerald eyes gleamed like lanterns in a cemetery. "If I hear one more word about business right now, of any persuasion . . . I will make _you_ fight for _yours_."

Amaya watched Edmund scramble to disappear with some vestige of amusement, but it sloughed off her face almost instantly. When she spoke, she didn't look at Gozaburo; she looked at the boy in the hospital bed.

She said, eventually: ". . . This has to change."

Gozaburo didn't look at Amaya, either. He said, "You'll have to be more specific."

"I've always been prepared for the sacrifices you've laid at my feet. Always ready to shed blood for your ambition. But I am _not_ ready, nor prepared, nor willing, to shed his. I _will not_ sacrifice him."

Gozaburo's jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. "Naturally." He waited a moment. "A total revamp of house security. I'll _gut_ them. Those who can't be retrained to better realize a proper standard will be let go immedia—"

" _No_ ," Amaya snapped. "No, that's not enough." She finally looked at the man to whom she'd sold her soul so many years ago. She waited for him to look back at her before she continued: "If this empire you're building is going to put Noa in danger, then _it_ will be sacrificed. I'm not talking about the house staff." Amaya looked at Gozaburo like she couldn't believe he could be _that_ stupid. "I'm talking about _everything_."

Gozaburo's eyes narrowed. "Amaya. Shedding ourselves of the Kaiba Corporation won't do anything in the long run." His tone was almost gentle. "Our name is still tied to us, to the history we've built. To _him_. That will never be banished, nor exorcized, no matter _what_ we do."

"Keeping in contact with those men has now directly put our son in mortal danger," Amaya hissed. "Or do you want to tell me things _didn't_ pan out the way you predicted? With Faraji."

". . . He did it," Gozaburo said, with a voice like rolling thunder on the horizon; quiet, but apocalyptic. "I don't know why, for what specific reason or on whose orders, but he did it."

"Then break free of them," Amaya said. "Rid yourself of them all. If the one man, of _all_ of them, you came closest to trusting . . . could do _this_. . ." her gaze was torn away from her husband again, through the window in front of them and back to her son, so small and vulnerable that it was a wonder he still lived at all, ". . . then what use is _any_ of it?"

Gozaburo drew in a deep, steadying breath. It didn't seem to calm him. "What would you propose?"

"Medicine? Pharmacology? Space travel? What does it matter? Your innovations extend to any number of fields. Don't stand here and tell me you couldn't make a transition. Step into a field that's not only safer but just as, if not more, lucrative than . . ." Amaya's lip curled in disgust, ". . . whatever the hell Kaiba-Corp has become."

Gozaburo flinched; he hated that abominable shorthand.

Amaya's eyes glittered.

She cast out the line; the hook sparkled. "Or do you mean to tell me that the great Gozaburo Kaiba has met his match? Is your legacy only worth celebrating if it entangles itself with the lowest dregs of moral decency? Is your greatness only measured in graveyards and bullet casings? Surely you can't be _that_ simple."

Silence then dominated, like a spirit best left unnamed.

Gozaburo lowered his head. Had he been anyone else, he may have been mistaken for a man deep in prayer or introspection.

Amaya stepped back toward the door to Noa's hospital room.

". . . There are people so frightened of me that they would sooner commit suicide than say what you just said . . . to say nothing of doing it where I can _hear_ ," Gozaburo noted. It wasn't a threat; simply an observation. In fact, he looked more than a little amused.

Amaya stopped. Turned to glance over one shoulder.

"I'm not them," she said.

Gozaburo smirked.

"No," he murmured, as he finally followed his wife into the room, "you most certainly aren't."

* * *

 **.**

* * *

 _ **The Kaiba family is an odd thing. An odd mix of violence, tradition, some vestige of honor and basically nothing if not loyalty. I feel like it's a play on a mafia / yakuza family. Admittedly my understanding of such things is limited, as I've never been particularly interested in the genres of fiction that deal with organized crime, but … I dunno. Gozie seems like he'd fit.**_

 _ **Be that as it may, I don't necessarily think that Amaya would be all in for it. I think she has particular standards of conduct, and I think that's best exemplified in the fact that she's gone by the time Seto and Mokuba show up in the canon story.**_

 _ **I have a hard time believing she's dead. Like, I don't think Gozaburo had her killed or anything. I think she cut ties with him after Noa's death. Probably because of how he handled it. What with the supercomputers and world domination stuff.**_

 _ **So naturally . . . if Noa had lived . . . wouldn't she have stayed?**_


	3. A Prince's Promise

_**I won't lie and say it's easy to get into the headspace of Gozaburo Kaiba, but I think it's a bit easier than I would have liked. I don't know if that means I get him better than I thought I did, or if Seto is more like him than I thought he was, or if I'm just entirely off the mark, but … either way. It's interesting.**_

* * *

.

* * *

Gozaburo Kaiba stood alone in the room with his son. Amaya had left for the moment, and he was faced with a grim truth in the form of hissing machinery and a face too young for a grave. Noa was a boy barely scratching the surface of his life, and yet here they were.

He swallowed tempestuous anger. He swallowed premature grief. He buried what he could bury, and fanned the flames of what remained. Gozaburo was a man who refused to engage in delusion. He did not hide from the truth. He shaped his life to suit his vision, and he could only do that if his vision was clear.

Gozaburo had a responsibility.

He sat at one of the chairs on the side of Noa's bed. He did not sit with the regal air of a king—like some with fanciful imaginations tended to call him. He sat with the grim efficiency of a warrior.

He reached out, and took hold of Noa's left hand.

"My son," he said slowly, his voice the rumble of a thunderstorm. "When you wake—and make no mistake, you _will_ —this city will have no power over you. You are a Kaiba. You are a king. This offense will not be weathered silently. I'm not done. Your mother is not done."

He saw his wife glide into the doorway.

Gozaburo scowled. "So _live_ , damn you. That is your part in this. I won't conquer this world for a ghost."

"Such a way with words," Amaya said. "The sentiment is as close to fatherly love as I think you're capable of." She smiled to herself as she rolled her eyes. "Your parents certainly broke the mold with you, didn't they?"

"Perhaps." Gozaburo leaned back in his chair. "What news? Surely they've reported to you at least once."

"I have been assured, in no uncertain terms, that he will recover. It seems it might take some time, and extensive physical therapy, before that. Chances are, it will be safer to carry that out back at the house. I don't like it here. Too exposed. We'll bring the specialists to us. I'm sure you can . . . convince them?"

"You haven't already done that?" Gozaburo raised an eyebrow. His face looked almost good-natured in its sardonic humor.

" _Men_ ," Amaya rolled her eyes again. "You're all the same. I'll only make as much a fool out of myself as I have to. I won't put on an act just to suit their egos."

The raised eyebrow was joined by a grin. "They're scared of you, aren't they? How badly have you threatened them?"

"Irrelevant. Just . . . handle them. Over the phone would probably work best. I get the feeling they wouldn't be able to handle you in person."

"Noted."

Amaya stepped over to the foot of the bed and watched Noa for a while. Her face softened as she looked at her son. She murmured, almost without thought: "That toy drive at the Children's Home is next month."

"Your fascination with that trash heap is bordering on pathology, Amaya."

"It's good publicity. The clearest path to owning this city is ingratiating yourself to its heart."

"And you think that means its orphans? Are we in an old-time British novel, then?"

"Don't be thick. They are the forgotten future. They will shape this city, and you might as well set yourself up to be a man they can trust. You know damn well that our _peers_ aren't going to do a damned thing with it. They can hardly be trusted to know which side of a mirror to look through."

Gozaburo chuckled. "You never _did_ like dealing with socialites."

"They're vain, vapid, and _ridiculous_."

"All right, all right. You don't have to join me, next time Buchanan puts together a gala. I'll go myself."

Amaya grimaced. "Carbrey Buchanan is an _idiot_."

"Of course he's an idiot. But he's a _generous_ idiot, and that's proven useful more than once. And if you intend for the Kaiba Corporation to . . . change its face, then it will be useful again."

"He's cracked jokes about that daughter of his—Catrina?—making eyes at Noa. Like we're some old medieval family looking to arrange a marriage." Amaya jabbed a finger at her husband. "I won't have it. You hear me? He talks like that again, I want you to put a fist through his teeth."

Gozaburo grunted acknowledgement as he rose to his feet. "Noted," he said again.

The man—right alongside the myth _and_ the legend—stood back up, sidestepped his queen, and walked. Amaya didn't say anything else, simply took his place at their son's side.

Once outside, a man swathed in black fell into step beside him. "Master Kaiba," he said. "Roland called in five minutes back. He's fished out a lead on Faraji's employer. How should we—"

"Why wasn't this brought to me immediately?" Gozaburo snarled.

Travis Copeland smirked as he rubbed his chin. "Forgive me, sir. But the mistress was quite clear." This caused Gozaburo to stop, suddenly. Travis stopped with him. The two men looked at each other. "I would rather face your wrath than hers."

Gozaburo studied Travis closely, his eyes unreadable, his expression as grim as a statue's. "Is that right?"

"Yes, sir. You, at least, would make my death quick."

Gozaburo raised an eyebrow, then smirked. "Just a month with us, and you already understand how the world works in this city. Well done, Copeland. Send him to me. I want to hear what he's learned directly."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh. Copeland." Gozaburo sighed and shook his head. "Get in touch with Director Kelvin, at the Domino Children's Home. Let him know Amaya and I are interested in assisting with their annual toy drive."

Travis looked confused for a moment, then shrugged.

"Yes, sir."


End file.
